


icicles don’t soften when they die

by joonibles



Series: busted and blue [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Other, Tubbo is amazing, pre-festival by like a few weeks maybe, quackity angst. quangst if you will, schlatt is not a good guy in this btw, they deserve happiness, tubbo + quackity friendship for da win
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 09:16:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27468589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joonibles/pseuds/joonibles
Summary: He’s not abused. Quackity is not a victim. Schlatt is not abusive.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Alexis | Quackity & Toby Smith | Tubbo, canonically they were engaged i think??, kind of implied Quackity/Jschlatt?
Series: busted and blue [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017544
Comments: 14
Kudos: 558





	icicles don’t soften when they die

**Author's Note:**

> as always, this is just their dream smp characters. i do realize real schlatt is not abusive, nor is his real friendship with quackity toxic at all. i just enjoy angst and their storyline-relationship fits that perfectly. 
> 
> TW for abusive themes, physically and verbally (referenced multiple times) and low-key victim blaming (quackity towards himself) but not really? just a blink and you might miss it. it’s mainly quackity undermining the abuse towards him.
> 
> title from “icicles” by the scary jokes

“I’m not abused.”

Quackity says after a while. They’re sitting on that bench, the same bench they always go to when they feel overwhelmed by Manberg, a comfortable silence having been interrupted by Quackity. Tubbo doesn’t look at him, focused on fiddling mindlessly with the flower in his hands, but he halts for a second at that statement. 

“I never said that.” Tubbo replies a moment later, going back to plucking a petal away. He seems to be muttering something under his breath. 

“I know you’re thinking it.” Quackity watches his steady hands. It’s almost hypnotizing, seeing the petals be ripped off their stem and picked up by the wind, flying away and away. Far away from here. Sometimes, Quackity wants to do that. Spread his wings and just leave. 

But he doesn’t have much left for him outside of Manberg or Schlatt. What would even be his plan? Settle down at a nice private beach? Adopt a few dogs or, fuck, maybe a few cats too. Live his days out next to the ocean, until maybe he got bored and wanted to leave again. It sounded nice, Quackity was sure he wouldn’t be too missed, but it wasn’t logical. It was a cowardice thing to do. He was a main factor for everything happening; if he had decided to just shut the fuck up, maybe Schlatt wouldn’t be the president. How awful would it be for him to just up and leave in the middle of everything he played a part in?

Quackity let’s himself consider the thought of leaving, but he never crosses the line. Needless to say, it wouldn’t work out well for anyone. 

Especially Tubbo. Tubbo is also in Manberg, under Schlatt’s command, one of the closest people to Schlatt other than Quackity himself. Tubbo’s already so stressed, a kid forced to do boring ass president stuff and make plans and schedule stupid meetings, and Quackity tries to take the brunt of it it all but even then... the bags under Tubbo’s eyes tell enough. Quackity couldn’t leave a kid to do all his work just because he wanted to escape from everything. How fucking selfish. 

And leaving him with Schlatt is a whole other story. He’s not abused. Quackity is not a victim. Schlatt is not abusive. But Schlatt can get rowdy, especially when he’s on one of his power highs, and he can be harsh. Even Quackity, a grown ass man  ~~ you’re _ nineteen _ ~~ , can feel like shit because of it. Schlatt seems to know how to gut someone and splay them open, vulnerable and ready for greedy eyes and fingers to see and pry and analyze and pick apart. Schlatt knows how to find weaknesses, and make you his puppet. 

And, sure, Schlatt maybe gets too handsy and eccentric sometimes, there’s some hand-shaped bruises wrapped around Quackity’s wrists as proof, and he’s not sure if Schlatt ever gets that way with Tubbo (god, he fucking hopes not) but Quackity’s sure it’s mainly him that gets that treatment. Quackity won’t allow Schlatt to step that boundary, not if he can help it. 

If Quackity leaves, and Schlatt’s just a little too drunk one night, and Tubbo’s in the wrong place at the wrong time or says something even slightly out of line— 

Quackity doesn’t finish that thought, because that won’t be happening. He’d take some mean words and maybe-too-rough grabbing if it meant Tubbo would be a little safer. He’d forget the idea of getting outta this shithole if it meant Tubbo could sleep easier. 

Beside him, Tubbo hums quietly. His feet skiff the ground, kicking some dust, but he seems to take no notice. Focused on thumbing at that damn flower. He seems distracted. 

“You okay, Turbo?” As expected, Tubbo’s lip curves upward at the nickname. He finally looks up, and Quackity finds himself staring into those doe eyes. He ponders how this sixteen-year-old can still hold so much childness in his eyes, even after everything he’s been through. Not just the Schlatt shit, but everything. 

He envies Tubbo’s determination, his naivety. Sometimes, he finds himself envying how close Schlatt is with him, as fucked up as that seems. But Tubbo never seems happy with Schlatt, so Quackity supposes he’s wasting his energy feeling jealous towards a fucking kid, anyways. 

“Yeah, all good.” Tubbo responds. “Just thinkin’.” 

“Yeah, too much of that and you’ll really hurt yourself.” Quackity enunciates his point by, softly, knocking on Tubbo’s head. The boy giggles, batting Quackity’s hand away, and Quackity feels warm. 

There’s a brief second of silence, the two settling back, Tubbo still smiling at nothing and everything. And then, his smile falters a little, and he hesitantly turns toward Quackity. Quackity gets an irrational feeling of impending doom. 

“Quackity.” Tubbo pauses, as if gathering the right words. His nails scrape at the stem of the flower, because he’s managed to peel the petals and leaves away. Quackity watches.

“You do know... that Schlatt  _ is _ really mean to you.” 

Oh. This conversation. 

Quackity fights the urge to make an excuse and flee back to Manberg, non-existent tail tucked between his legs like a bitch. He doesn’t feel like going back yet. Doesn’t feel like being the Vice President, but he also doesn’t feel like being a victim of this narrative Tubbo’s seem to have created. 

“Yeah.” He says instead, playing the role of nonchalance. “He can be. But he’s mean to everyone. I’m not too special.” 

Tubbo faces him with a stern look, and Quackity thinks he must of gotten that from Niki, because they look nearly identical. He doesn’t comment on it, because his throat suddenly feels too dry now for him to properly speak. 

“Quackity—“ 

Quackity clears his throat loudly. He gathers as much spit as he can to will himself to just fucking  _ say something _ . “I literally just told you, I’m not fucking abused, Tubs. Just because Schlatt is a little rude to me every now and then—“ 

“It’s a little more than a few rude comments.” Tubbo snarks, and Quackity tenses. “It goes a lot deeper than that.” 

“Since when are you my psychiatrist?” Quackity’s voice raises, and he feels panicked, but he’s not really sure why. He’s not a fucking victim, so why can’t he believe that? “If you were, I would definitely be getting a new one.” 

Tubbo doesn’t laugh. Not even a pity chuckle. 

Quackity feels a flicker of irritation. “Can’t we just drop this? I—it’s useless to even discuss, or, or argue over, or even think about, okay? We came here to relax, and we’re not even fucking relaxing. We came here to get away from Manberg and Pogtopia and... and...”

“And Schlatt.” Tubbo says flatly. 

“God, just fucking drop that!” Quackity roars, springing to his feet in an instant, looming over the boy in front of him. His words feel more desperate than he intends. “He’s not any worse to me than he is anybody fucking else. We... he’s...”

“Quackity.” Tubbo’s voice is soft, quiet, the voice of someone who’s tired and doesn’t want to argue. An unsaid plea. 

Quackity falls silent, besides his panting. He’s worked himself up, and he feels the ball of anxiety bubbling in his chest and his stomach and making his limbs jittery. 

“We came out here... because of Schlatt. What I saw—“ Tubbo hesitates, licking his lips. “Quackity, he’s really hurting you. That isn’t just play fighting, or some rough flirting, he—“ 

“It was nothing.” Quackity speaks up. It’s a pitiful defense, and they both know it. 

“ _** Fuck ** _ , Quack! He slammed you into the goddamn wall!” Tubbo cried, and his voice seemed choked up, as though he was on the brink of tears. “I fucking saw it!” 

Quackity doesn’t reply. His heart is racing, and he can only hear his ragged breathing and white noise. He wills himself to say something, another stupid defense, a stupid fucking joke, anything so he doesn’t look so weak. But his mouth just opens and closes, and his brain is still on pause, and nothing will fucking come out. 

Tubbo ever so gently takes hold of his hand. Quackity inwardly curses at how he flinches, but Tubbo doesn’t comment on it, merely leading Quackity back down beside him on the bench. His legs feel wobbly, and he’s thankful because he’s sure any longer standing up and he would have fell on his ass. 

An arm reluctantly wraps around his shoulders. Tubbo glances at him, as if asking if it were alright. Quackity nods, and the arm tightens a little. Tubbo leaned over, placing his head on Quackity’s shoulder, fully embracing his left side. Quackity feels like an idiot for how safe it makes him feel. 

“We should really talk about this.” Tubbo sniffles, and Quackity hears the unshed tears in his voice. He doesn’t respond just yet, only wrapping his own arm around Tubbo’s waist. 

“Prolly.” Is his graceful response. Tubbo seems to want to say something, but instead the boy just shoves his head deeper into the crook of Quackity’s neck. 

“Later?” Tubbo asks after a brief silence. 

Quackity isn’t sure. He doesn’t want to discuss this, ever. But if he’s given the choice between now and later, he knows which one he prefers. And Tubbo wasn’t just going to let this slide, he already knows. He isn’t sure if he’s grateful for that or not. 

So Quackity stifles his own anxiety at the thought and rubs Tubbo’s back. “Sure, Turbo.”

The small smile he gets in response makes him feel a little better. 


End file.
